


Break Me In

by wishingonalightningbolt



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, Female Derek Hale, Female Derek Hale/Female Stiles Stilinski, Female Stiles Stilinski, Fluff, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:55:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishingonalightningbolt/pseuds/wishingonalightningbolt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dara Hale has one epic grievance with her current life, and it is her inability to get off like the hot-blooded American female she is. There's also her epic crush on Stiles Stilinski, who is probably straight and too attractive for her own good, and that's not really helping matters.</p><p>-0-</p><p>She likes to think of Stiles pressing her up against the tile wall of the girl’s bathroom during lunch, kissing her fiercely, quickly, because she wants to do it but she doesn’t want to get caught.  She likes to think of Stiles slipping a hand into her jeans, into her underwear, and—</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break Me In

**Author's Note:**

> Lesbian sterek was always going to happen from me one day, it was just a question of when.

This is just fucking ridiculous.  She is a hot-blooded American female who just wants to have a fucking orgasm—is that so hard to accomplish?  Honestly, the movies make it look so easy, and the porn—the porn is ridiculous.  The porn is a lie.  Dara always has to remember that the porn is a lie.

There’s no reason it should be this difficult.  She gets hot, she gets wet, and then as soon as she tries going for it, it’s like her entire body shuts down.  To be fair, it’s entirely possible that it has something to do with the fact that her house is full of her family and she’s surrounded on every side of the hallway by her siblings, but still.  Still.

She’s 17 fucking years old, she’s been aware of sex since before she hit double digits, and she’s had a regular sex drive since the age of fourteen.  (The only issue then was fear that she would be caught with her hand down her pants, and so she stuck to trashy romance novels to convince herself she was getting a good deal and then ignored her own vagina.)

She doesn’t know why she’d waited until she was sixteen to bother trying masturbating.  Probably fear, the socially-driven stigma that girls don’t masturbate, general anxiety, discomfort issues.  All of those things make sense, and she hates them, a lot, because they give her good reason to ignore her sex drive and pretend like she’s above it all.

She’s not.  She’s really not.  Sometimes she gets to frustrated that she wants to cry because she just can’t have a fucking orgasm.  Maybe she needs to try harder.

She sleeps about eight hours a night, she’s healthy and fit and otherwise completely satisfied in every aspect of her life.  She’s fine at school, she’s fine during her shifts at the local movie theater, she’s even fine during the bulk of her time spent at home.  It’s just late at night or early in the morning when the mood strikes and she has no time to prevent it—and she hates it.  She hates it more than anything because it reminds her of another area of her life where she’s lost, where she doesn’t know what to do, and she can pretend.  She can talk to her friends about sex and make them believe she knows what she’s talking about, and for the most part, she does.  The only issue is that not only has she never engaged sexually with another person, but she’s never successfully sexually engaged with herself.

Erica tells her that she has to learn how to have an orgasm before she can fuck someone else.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Dara hisses.  “God, I shouldn’t have even told you.”

“You have no other female friends.  Who were you going to talk to?  Isaac?”

They both shudder at the thought.

“Do you have a detachable showerhead?”

Dara pouts.  “No.”

“A vibrator?”

“My parents look at my credit card purchases!”

Erica huffs.  “Are they ever out of the house?”

“Not lately.  I swear to God, I haven’t been alone since I was in middle school.”

“Sucks you didn’t bloom earlier, huh?  You might’ve been better at it by now.”

Dara elbows her.  “This is a serious issue.”

“You’re afraid of your vagina,” Erica says with a shrug.  “I have no idea why, since your mom is, like, crazy cool with talking about basically anything, but apparently you are.  Go online, watch some girl porn made for actual girls, and just find a quiet time where you can rub one out.”

“You’re a menace.”

“You love me.”

 

* * *

 

 

If Dara is just gonna go around belting out all of her feelings now, she’ll admit that she feels left out.  Literally all of her friends have gotten laid.  Erica and Boyd are doing each other, Isaac is doing some girl named Allison, and Jackson is _always_ doing _some_ one.  That’s all of her friends, even though she supposes Jackson isn’t really one anymore, since he moved away.  Whatever.

The point is, she’s the only one of them that’s never had sex.  Fuck, even her acquaintances have had sex.  Ethan and Aiden, although not with each other—Danny and Lydia respectively—as well as Scott from lacrosse.  He was doing it with Allison before Isaac was, and is currently doing Kira, even though they’re trying to keep it a secret from everyone.  They’re failing.  The girl Stacy from her Physics class is fucking the boy Matthew from her Calc class.  Ashley, from Lit, is juggling a sexual relationship with Monica and a buy-me-things-and-tell-me-I’m-pretty-and-I-might-eventually-sleep-with-you relationship with Joseph, who’s in Dara’s film class and speaks loudly about when he might eventually unlock Ash’s chastity belt.  He has no clue she’s going down on Monica in the girl’s room in between periods.

Dara is only vaguely aware of the junior girl in her physics class, the one who sits in the third column, middle row.  She’s got short, pixie hair and a ski-jump nose, delicate cheekbones, a smattering of moles and freckles across her snowy cheeks that blush too easily, and she’s in the stands for the lacrosse games because Scott McCall is her best friend, and Lydia Martin is her partner in crime.

Her name is Stiles, and Dara develops a crush on her the first time she opens her mouth in class.  They’re three weeks into the start of school and Stiles is one of two juniors in the class—they’re usually taking Chem or AP Bio at that point, but whatever.  She argues with the teacher about some grade on a test when a question was obviously unfair, as she proved by the pristine notes she had taken, as well as photos of the slideshow the teacher had given during her lecture.  This question on the test also invalidated a handful of others, and the curve went up considerably.  Dara loves her immediately.

So, if she has to slunk into the shower and try to get off when she feels depressed and moody and disappointed in herself already for the fact that she knows it isn’t going to work, she might as well think about someone she likes.

Stiles is mouthy.  She’s gorgeous and lean and she doesn’t dress how people want her to, but rather how she would like to.  She has two female friends, Allison and Lydia, and a handful of guy friends who Dara believes would all readily fuck her.  It’s annoying, Dara thinks, because she’s gorgeous and she doesn’t realize it, because she could have anyone she wanted and she doesn’t care.

She likes to think of Stiles pressing her up against the tile wall of the girl’s bathroom during lunch, kissing her fiercely, quickly, because she wants to do it but she doesn’t want to get caught.  She likes to think of Stiles slipping a hand into her jeans, into her underwear, and—

The stream stutters, the water turns cold as someone downstairs flushes a toilet, and Dara nearly screams, shoves off the water and stomps out.

 

* * *

 

 

“You need help,” a voice says, and when Dara looks up, she almost jumps out of her seat.

She blinks at Stiles, who is sat down across from her at the lunch table where she’s waiting for Erica.  “I—what?”

“You need help,” Stiles repeats.  “Erica told me.”

She immediately flushes to her ears, ready to list a whole bunch of nonsense, and then Stiles says—

“And I figured because I’m getting the best grade in the class, I could help you out.”

“Huh?”

“With physics,” Stiles clarifies.  “Do we have more than one class together?”

“I—no, I don’t think so.”  She would’ve noticed.

“Great.  So, do you have a study period or something?”

Dara shakes her head.  “No, but I can get out of film.”

“What period?”

“Fourth.”

“That’s my Calc period.”  She reaches into her bag and pulls out her phone, scrolling through something.  “You’re on lacrosse, which makes it more difficult, I guess.”

Dara is the first girl on lacrosse since the formation of the team.  It’s not that they didn’t let girls on or anything, it’s just that nobody really wanted to do it.  Dara did.  She’s first line and everything.

“I know Scott’s schedule—it’s whack.”  Stiles hums and pockets her phone.  “So, are your Thursdays free?  Because I know you have games on Fridays and drills on Mondays and Wednesdays, and I have work on Mondays, Tuesday, Wednesdays, and weekends, so.”

Dara thinks Erica is either incredibly evil or her very best friend in the world.  “Yeah, Thursday works.”

“Great.  So I usually tutor people at a Starbucks or something, but if you wanted to meet somewhere else, that’d be okay too.  The library or something.”

“Starbucks is fine.”

“Cool.”  She holds out a hand and Dara stares at it, blankly.  “Your phone,” Stiles says, “so I can put in my number?”

“Oh.  Right.”  Dara hands it over, and watches as Stiles’ nimble fingers tap in the information.  She must send herself a text because her own phone chimes in her pocket.

“Great—we’ll talk.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Dara says when Stiles is standing, “how do you know you have the highest grade in physics?”

Stiles smirks.  “Well, since I have a 103%, I just kind of guessed.”

Dara shouldn’t find that so sexy.

 

* * *

 

 

It happens gradually.  First it’s the tutoring.

Dara’s grades start to go up.  Every Thursday, for two hours, Dara sits at a table in the local Starbucks with Stiles and lets her re-teach everything she was supposed to have known by then.  And she’s honestly a much better teacher than their actual one, because Dara starts getting As on quizzes, pulling Bs on tests, and soon they’re preparing for the final.

Next it’s the girlfriend.

They’re three weeks from finals when Dara finds out about Heather.  It’s a Friday night but the game hasn’t actually started yet, so she’s sitting with Scott and Danny on the bench, tying her hair up into a ponytail.

“Who’s sitting next to Kira?” Danny wants to know.  Dara figures it’s probably some guy that’s making Danny’s gay-dar flash red, but then Scott says, “Oh, that’s Heather.”

She looks, giving her ponytail a final twist.  It’s a blonde girl, wearing a sweatshirt, black jeans, and boots.  She’s sitting next to Stiles, smiling at her, and Dara feels jealousy twist in her gut.

“She goes to Beacon Heights,” Scott explains.  “She and Stiles had a thing over the summer.”

Dara turns to him in the blink of an eye.  “What?”

Scott nods, tying his shoe.  “I know, she doesn’t really look Stiles’ type.  But apparently gorgeous and girly does it for her for some reason.  Smart helps.  It’s why she’s been half in love with Lydia since we were toddlers.”

“If it was just a summer thing, why’s she here?” Danny wants to know.

“Uh, Stiles ended it during the first week of school.  Said they weren’t really compatible.  Apparently Heather was more into the _idea_ of a fling than an actual fling.”

“So she wanted to have sex without complications, but then it got complicated.”

“Pretty much.”

“Ouch.”

Dara is too busy being dumbfounded over the fact that Stiles Stilinski is not only a non-heterosexual, but dated a blonde bombshell from Beacon Heights and managed to keep it a secret from the world.  She doesn’t have time to worry about—

“Wait, Stiles has had sex?”  She doesn’t mean to say it.  She closes her mouth.  “I mean—no, sorry, that’s none of my business.”

“Positive female sexuality,” Danny tells her.  “It’s the 21st century.  Girls can fuck too.”

Dara huffs out a breath.  “Yeah, at least some girls can.”

Scott gets up to rally some players to the bench for a chat and Danny slides over.  “You know there’s nothing wrong with being a virgin.”

“Danny—”

“People thought I wasn’t,” he confesses quietly, “because they knew I went out to gay bars and hung out with people and let them buy me drinks.  But I had boyfriends, and I never hooked up with people just for the sake of hooking up, and usually my boyfriends would break up with me before we got the chance to do it.  And, in case you’re wondering, there were two.  Two boyfriends.  And I was still a virgin.”

“And now you’re dating Ethan.”

“And now I’m dating Ethan, and he and you are the only people who know I was a virgin when we started going out.”

She scratches her neck.  “It was worth the wait, I bet.”

“It really depends on who you are, D.  I mean, I’m not gonna say I wish I’d slept with those guys because I don’t, but some people could’ve and wouldn’t have felt any different—and that’s fine.  But that’s just not me.”  He looks over at where some of the team is huddled and Dara follows his eye line.  “I won’t tell Scott about your mad crush on his best friend, most because he doesn’t want to hit a girl, and nobody wants to see you beat him to a bloody pulp.”

“Wha—I—I do not have a crush on Stiles.”

Danny smirks.  “It’s okay,” he says.  “She’s nice.  I can see the appeal.”

“She dates hot blondes who have sex, Danny,” Dara says a bit bitterly.

“Yeah, but Scott said that’s not her type.”

“Whatever—I’m not anyone’s type.”

Danny sighs and stands.  “I hate to break it to you, Hale, but you’re kind of hot, and there are at least six different guys on this lacrosse team who would run off the field right now if it meant they got to fuck you.”

“How flattering,” she says dryly.

He shrugs.  “You’re not unappealing.  You just gotta stop thinking that you are.”

Finally, it’s when Dara and Stiles kind of become friends.

They suddenly stop hanging out just at Starbucks.  They get lunch together off campus, even though Stiles isn’t really allowed off because she’s a junior—they take her car, though, so Dara figures she can cover for her if they ever get caught.

They meet up on weekends, get coffee, talk about movies, sit in companionable silence at local bakeries while they write their essays and munch on complimentary scones.  Apparently the owner owes Stiles’ dad a big favor, and Stiles doesn’t hesitate it cash it in with baked goods.  It’s clever.

The truth is, Dara and Stiles have become such good friends, that it’s not weird to go over to each other’s houses.  They get through finals studying at each other’s places, eating with each other’s families, dealing with embarrassing parents and, on Dara’s side, horribly embarrassing siblings.  Cora, who’s only 10, asks Stiles at the dinner table if she’s going to stay forever.  Cora likes the way her hair looks like Rapunzel’s at the end of _Tangled_ , so an immediate bond is formed.

 

* * *

 

 

When Dara turns 18 on December 10th, she gets the Camaro, and she’s not ashamed to say that she cries.  Because finals start the following Monday, she has an excuse to drive it over to Stiles’.

“You got the Camaro!” Stiles shouts, practically vibrating on the porch, staring at it.

“You wanna go for a spin?”

Stiles beams.  “Is that even a question?”

It’s when they’re out that Dara sees Heather.  They’re taking advantage of the Christmas drinks at Starbucks when she walks in the door and gets in line right behind them.  Of course, Stiles says hello and hugs her, looking bright and cheerful and friendly, and Dara is left standing there, feeling like a fool.

Maybe Stiles still likes her.  Maybe Stiles only broke up with her because of dumb reasons and they’re still madly in love.  Maybe they’re still sleeping together.

“Oh, Heather, this is my friend Dara.  Dara, this is Heather.”

“Nice to meet you,” Heather says, but it’s a bit frosty.

“Same here,” Dara manages to say.  “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Stiles looks startled.  Understandably, since she never mentioned her, but Dara nods.  “Yup.”

“Good to know,” Heather says, and then it’s their turn to order drinks so Dara wraps an arm around Stiles waist and pulls her up to the counter, ordering her caramel brulée latte and her own peppermint hot chocolate.

They decide to take their drinks to go, and Dara sits in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead, her ears hot with shame.  Stiles doesn’t say anything until they get back, idling with the engine still on in front of Stiles’ house.

“Scott told me about Heather when she came to the last lacrosse game,” Dara explains.  “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“You didn’t,” Stiles assures her.  “I just—didn’t remember mentioning her.”

“You didn’t.”

“Right.”  Stiles clears her throat.  “Should I have?”

“I don’t know.  Should you?”

“I have no idea.  We—dated.  For like two months.  We broke up.  The end.  I mean, that doesn’t freak you out, right?  That I like girls?  Because, I mean, I like guys too.  Not that I have to explain myself.  Because I don’t.  And you’re friends with Danny, you shouldn’t be—”

“I’m a lesbian,” Dara says, hands tightening on the steering wheel.  “A gold star lesbian.  All-around, A+ lesbian.”

“Oh.  Well.  Good.”

After a moment of silence, Stiles rubs her forehead.

“I’m sorry,” she says.  “This wasn’t—I ruined your birthday.”

“You didn’t,” Dara argues.  “Seriously.  If anything, Heather did.”

Stiles laughs, but it’s humorless.  “Yeah.  I could tell.”

“Apparently I’m not as subtle as I thought.”

“It’s okay,” Stiles says.  “I like that.”

Dara is so shocked by the words that just came out of Stiles’ mouth that she has to face her.  “What.”

“I didn’t give you your birthday present yet,” Stiles says quietly, “because I was gonna invite you inside.  Then, once inside there was gonna be mistletoe hanging from the door.  It was gonna be really dumb and—and I thought it’d be cute because—because mistletoe.”

Dara blinks.  “Is it still there?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you still wanna—do you still wanna kiss me?”

Stiles is blushing.  “Yeah.”

“You were gonna kiss me when you weren’t sure I was a lesbian.”

“In my defense, you’re really not subtle, so I figured you were either a straight girl with an enormous crush on me, or a non-straight girl with an enormous crush on me.”

“Kinda cocky.”

“Kinda true,” Stiles counters, and then she’s leaning over the center console and kissing Dara, and there’s nothing confusing about it.

 

* * *

 

 

Finals week passes quickly, at least for that Dara can be grateful.  She see Stiles every day, even when they don’t have tests together, and then it’s winter break, and Dara is absolutely ready to light a fire, put on fuzzy PJs, and watch whatever the hell she wants for a couple days before she has to worry about wrapping presents.

**From Stiles (11:21 PM) :**

Wanna go out?

 

Dara blinks down at the text.

 

**To Stiles (11:22 PM) :**

It’s almost midnight.

**From Stiles (11:22 PM) :**

So, yes?

 

**To Stiles (11:23 PM) :**

Where are we going?

 

**From Stiles (11:25 PM) :**

My dad just left.  He’s working until six.  Come over?

 

**To Stiles (11:25 PM) :**

And what do I tell my parents?

 

**From Stiles (11:26 PM) :**

Whatever, as long as it’s not that you’re going over to your girlfriend’s house to fool around.

 

She nearly falls getting out of bed, puts on a pair of sweats and her sneakers.  Her parents are still awake in the living room, sitting on the couch with _Holiday Inn_ playing on the TV.

“I’m going over to Erica’s,” she says, putting on her coat.  “I’m gonna spend the night.  She’s having a fight with Boyd, so I told her I’d pick up ice cream and we’d watch dumb movies.”

Her father nods, waves a hand.  “Have fun.”

She should probably be worried that her parents trust her so much, but it’s kind of a great thing.

When she gets to Stiles’ house, Stiles has the door open before she even gets out of her car.  It ignites a warm feeling in her belly, getting to wrap Stiles in her arms and kiss her as soon as she walks in the door.

“Honey,” she says softly, “I’m home.”

Stiles grins.  “Yeah, you are.  Wanna go upstairs?”

“We have time.”

“What’d you tell your parents?”

“That Erica needed consoling.”

“Do _you_ need consoling?” Stiles asks with an arched eyebrow, leaning in to kiss at Dara’s neck.  It’s awfully distracting, and it isn’t helped by the fact that Stiles’ hands are warm.  “I made hot chocolate.”

Fuck.  She kisses Stiles quickly.  “Take me; I’m yours.”

They’re both still wearing T-shirts when they make it up to Stiles’ bed later.  Stiles is wearing little shorts that Dara isn’t totally sure have underwear underneath them, and Dara is wearing her sweats, but they’re becoming overwhelmingly hot with each passing moment.

Stiles is on top of her, stroking down her sides and kissing her neck.  She’s a fast learner.  She knows that Dara melts when she does that, that Dara will basically do anything as soon as Stiles’ mouth is on her neck.

Dara is already shoving the waistband of her sweats down before Stiles can bother asking her if she’s okay with taking them off.  Stiles doesn’t look surprised, just happy, and Dara kicks them off the bed, rolling so that they’re on their sides.

She’s happy she’s wearing underwear that both comfortable _and_ cute.

“What do you wanna do?” Stiles asks.

Dara has thought a lot about this.  She has plans.  She knows there has to be a lot of kissing, a lot of touching, and inevitably, she wants Stiles naked underneath her, her legs propped over Dara’s shoulders while she eats her out.  It’s a recurring fantasy that Dara has tried getting off to multiple times—it’s the one that keeps her going the longest before something bad inevitably happens.

“Whatever you wanna do,” Dara tells her.

“I’m gonna take my shirt off then.”

She smiles.  “Sounds like a plan.”

There’s a lot of kissing.  Like, an excessive amount.  They’re pretty much always kissing, arms around each other, hands in hair, fingers stroking over skin, and by the time they’re both shirtless and it’s only Dara’s sports bra and Stiles’ cute front-clasp thing in their way, Dara is really into the idea of trying to rub one out on Stiles’ thigh, just grinding down to see if she could do it.

“What are you thinking?” Stiles asks, tucking a piece of Dara’s hair behind her ear.

Dara feels good like this, glowing, warm, happy.  She wants to hold Stiles against the mattress and make her squirm, hear the noises she makes when she comes.

“How about I show you?” Dara suggests, and then she’s flipping them over and, starting at Stiles’ mouth, begins to kiss down her body.  She takes off Stiles’ bra when she gets there, trying not to be so weird about boobs—they’re boobs, she’s seen them before, but they’re still just kind of exciting.  Stiles obviously likes what she does there, licking and sucking around her nipples, nuzzling between them.  She makes soft sighs, little moans, keeps her hands in Dara’s hair or on her shoulders.

Her tummy is soft and lovely, with fine little hairs that Dara can’t help but love.  Even when the hair gets a little darker, below her belly button, Dara has no reaction other than her watering mouth, and Stiles seems to realize her intent, too, because she gasps and then moans and lifts her hips to help get her underwear off.

Dara has no idea why she would ever think Stiles would be bashful.  They’re going full speed ahead.

Obviously, Dara has never done this before, but it doesn’t seem to matter.  All she has to do is lick around, keep consistency when Stiles makes a nice noise, and then she uses her thumb on Stiles’ clit too, because Stiles pulls on Dara’s hair when she does that, and that’s nice.  She knew she was going to like this, figured at least, but she’s honestly not prepared for how good it feels.  She doesn’t want to stop, wants to hold onto Stiles’ quivering thighs forever and just keep going and going and going, but the ache between her thighs is distracting, and she props up a knee and squirms one hand between her legs, just to arch against it and take the edge off.

“Fuck,” Stiles moans.  “Oh, God, D—oh, fuck—”

When Stiles comes, Dara has to remind herself not to stop.  She wants to see Stiles’ face, of course, but she’s done research.  She has to push her through her orgasm, and she can hear the moans anyway, feel the way she thighs tightened and her hips arch.  It seems amazing, and Dara is both ridiculously proud and insanely jealous at the same time.

“C’mon,” Stiles says.  “C’mere.  Let me—c’mon.”

Dara licks her lips.  “I—it’s okay.”

“No, c’mon.”

The thing that scares her is that it probably won’t happen.  And then she’s going to have to tell Stiles that she’s never had an orgasm, that she’s still a virgin, and that sex terrifies her unless she’s too turned on to care about how scary it really is.

But what if it does happen?  What if she lets Stiles between her thighs and she comes, finally, and then everyone is great.  She has to make up her mind fast, because she can practically feel her vagina changing its mind.

Stiles kisses her, doesn’t seem to mind that she tastes like—well, they know what she tastes like—and that her chin and nose are all wet.  She just kisses Dara like she’s starving for it, and pulls her into her lap, hands on her thighs.

“Show me,” Stiles says then, and Dara goes cold all over.

“I—show you?”

“Yeah, how you get off.”

“Oh.”  She could fake it, she figures, but Stiles would probably be able to tell, and besides, faking it sucks.  She licks her lips.  “Kiss me some more,” she decides, because that will make her warm again, and then she can go for it.

It’s a couple minutes of kissing before she can feel the ache rise in her.  Then it’s easy to grind down against Stiles, her thigh propped right there between Dara’s legs, just like she wanted.  It feels fucking awesome, so good that she can’t help but moan and push a little harder, push for more.

“Relax,” Stiles says.  “We can take it slow.”

“Wanna come,” Dara pants.  “Fuck, you have no idea how bad I wanna come.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Kiss—kiss my neck.”

She feels like she’s never been closer to having an orgasm in her life, teetering right fucking there.  Everything is warm and good and wonderful, but her muscles are too tense and her stomach feels weird and she tries to block it out, block out everything that’s not the fact that she could have an orgasm right fucking now—and she fails.

“Fuck,” she spits, trying to get it back, arching her hips again and again.  Her thighs are exhausted.  She feels like she just ran three miles.  “Fuck.”

Stiles peeks her head up.  “What happened?”

“I—I lost it.  Sorry.”

“What?  Don’t apologize.”  She looks a little confused, but she kisses Dara anyway, hands on her face.  “I’m the one who’s sorry.  I—do you want me to just sit back?  Let you do what you usually do?”

Dara feels sour on the inside.  “No, I—no.”

Stiles blinks.  “Okay.  Do you wanna shower together?”

She nods, standing up and tugging her hair up so it doesn’t stick to her face anymore.  She can tie it into a ponytail without a hair band, and it’ll make showering easier too, so she does.  Stiles stands after a moment, watching her, and Dara knows that she’s fit, muscles from lacrosse and whatnot, so she’s not embarrassed about that, but she’s still shy.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Stiles says softly.  She kisses Dara’s nose.  “C’mon, a shower will make you feel better.”

It does.  She’s sleepy and comfortable, and it’s easy to curl up in bed with Stiles after that, her arms around Dara.  She knows she’ll have to get up early and hightail it out of there so they don’t get caught by Stiles’ dad, but worse comes to worse, they’ll say they had a friendly sleepover and even though the Sheriff will doubt them, they won’t have been caught in the act.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re concentrating too hard,” Stiles says when they’re in Dara’s room on Christmas Eve.  They’re leaning up against her headboard, watching a movie on her computer.  Her entire family is downstairs.

“Hm?” Dara asks distractedly.

“The other night,” Stiles tells her.  “When we were at my house.  You were concentrating too hard—I really didn’t mean to make you nervous.  Maybe if we’re in a better environment, a more familiar one, it’ll be easier.”

Dara nods shortly.  “Yeah, maybe.”

“So.  Your family’s downstairs.”

“Yeah, my entire family.”  She shakes her head.  “There’s no way.  We cannot have sex with my entire family in the house.”

Stiles arches an eyebrow.  “Why, you too loud?”

Dara shudders.  “That’s not even funny.  It’s—what is we get caught?”

“We’ve been up here for hours and no one’s even checked on us.”  She leans in, kisses Dara’s cheek, her jaw.  “C’mon.”  A hand on her thigh makes Dara go warm all over.  “It’ll be easier here.”

Dara lets herself fall into it for a moment.  It feels good, not just the touching but also the way Stiles cares so much.  She wants Dara to feel good, wants to see her come.  And that’s a noble effort, she supposes, so it couldn’t hurt to just—try it—

“It won’t be,” Dara whispers when Stiles is unbuttoning her shirt.

“Hm?”

“It won’t be easier here,” Dara sighs, closing her eyes.

“Oh.”  Stiles sits up.  “The bathroom, then?  Or—”

“I’ve never had an orgasm,” Dara tells her, still not looking at her.  She knows her face is red, and she rolls so that Stiles is off of her.  She stands, tugging on her boots and grabbing her scarf.  “I’ll walk you to your car.”

Stiles is just sitting at the edge of her bed.  “I’m sorry, I think I just blacked out for a moment.  What were we talking about?”

“You heard me.  Don’t make me say it again.”

“D—was the other night—was that the first time you—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she interrupts, knowing that any second hot tears of shame will come rising up.

“Oh, D.”  Stiles gathers her close, wrapping her arms around her.  “I didn’t know.  I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.  I—I swear, I’m so sorry.  Fuck.”  She kisses her, deep and tender.  “Dara, I’m so sorry.  Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“What are you sorry for?  You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I wouldn’t have made it seem like a booty call if I’d known, first of all,” Stiles hurries to say, holding onto her hands.  “And secondly, I would’ve lit some candles, put on some Adele, I don’t know.  I would’ve gone down on you.”

Dara manages a smile at that, tucking her face into Stiles’ neck.  “I liked it the way it was.  I didn’t want it to be a big deal.”

Stiles nods like she understands.  “Okay.”  She has to nudge Dara up, though, look her in the eyes, and Dara sees real concern there.  It makes her feel pitied.  “Hey—look at me.”

“You look like you’re sorry for me.  Don’t be sorry for me.”

“You’re 18 and you’ve never had an orgasm,” Stiles says with a hint of a smile.  “I’m just—surprised.  And worried.  Do you not masturbate?”

“I—I’ve tried.  It doesn’t work.”

“Well then you’re obviously not doing it right.”

“Obviously.”

“Hey.”  Stiles squeezes her hand.  “I’m gonna help.  I’m gonna be your masturbation guru.  It’ll be great.  You’ll be having orgasms 24/7.”

“Stiles—”

“We’re gonna start with you getting in the shower,” Stiles insists.

“My family—”

“Yeah, whatever, they’re around but it’s a huge house and I’ll be listening.”  She shrugs.  “It’s fine.  Go get in the shower.  I’ll be there in a second.”

“We don’t have to do this today.”

Stiles arches an eyebrow.  “The sooner the better.  Now I know why you look like you’re always going to explode.  Jesus, I’ve had two orgasms since the last time I saw you, and look at how bright and cheery I am.”  She kisses Dara briefly.  “Go, and try to think of good, calming things.  Like me.  Naked.”

The thing is that Dara has been doing this unsuccessfully for so long that it now feels poisoned.  It feels like no matter what, she’s unprepared and frightened and she’s just always going to be disappointed.  Still, she does what Stiles asked, because how could she not?  It’s easy to think about her, to think about when they were in the shower together in Stiles’ house, kissing and fondling each other.  It’s easy to imagine Stiles in here with her now, touching her lips with her own before she settles on her knees and tucks her face between Dara’s thighs.

She moans to herself, pushing against the hand she has between her thighs.  “Fuck.”

She wonders—she’s never tried it, because it’s been so terrifying—but she wonders if she’s wet enough to finger herself.  It would feel good, she thinks, because she feels so empty, and even though Stiles’ smart, nimble fingers would be better, Stiles isn’t here right now, and—

And no, she loses at least 50% of her good feelings immediately, just by trying to push a finger inside herself.  It’s weird, and it feels weird, and her body resists anyway, so she sighs and tries to go back to thinking about Stiles naked, like she suggested.  Because she’s hot, and she’s soft, and she’s a comforting thought right now.

It’s easier to just grind against the heel of her palm, one hand propped on the tile wall, bottom lip trapped between her teeth.  She can feel her body rising to the challenge, slowly but surely, and she wonders, not for the first time since getting in the shower, where the fuck Stiles is.  God, if she were here right now, if she would just push open the glass door and curl her arms around Dara, cover her hands with her own—

She’s moaning, desperately, so eager to come that it hurts.

She can hear Stiles’ voice in her head.  _Don’t think too much.  Don’t try too hard.  Just relax and let it happen._

She doesn’t know if she has enough time for that.  It’s suspicious, the shower running this long, and Dara—fuck, Dara wants this to be easier, wants to be able to just get off and move on, but her hand starts feeling less interesting and her body starts rejecting any attempts at stimulation with a sick feeling in her stomach.

“Fuck,” she declares, shoving off the water.

Stiles opens the door, peeks her head in.  “Oh no.  Either you came like really quietly and somehow managed not to fall on your ass, or…you didn’t.”

Wordlessly, Dara grabs for a towel, wraps herself up in it.  “This is pointless.”

“Hey, no, don’t say that.  It takes time—trial and error.  That’s how I did it.”

Dara nods slightly.  “Okay.”

“Don’t be discouraged.”  Stiles pulls her into a kiss, hands coping a feel under the towel, and Dara laughs into it, letting it fall to the ground.  “Hmm, is that an invitation?”

“It’s a promise for later,” Dara amends, because she knows Stiles likes her, likes having sex, and she likes that too, but she can’t right now, even when she thinks she might want to.  She’s not in the right headspace yet.  “When does your dad go back to work?”

“Friday.  You wanna come over?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

Friday finds Dara picking out the most appropriate underwear for the job.  It would be a lot easier to do, though, if Laura didn’t just stride into her room and sit on her bed.

“What are you doing?” Dara asks, closing her drawer.  “I’m busy.”

Laura nods slowly, looks beside her at the outfit Dara has laid out.  It’s black leggings that she got for Christmas, a purple and silver skirt, a purple sweater that makes her breasts look awesome, and her black boots are at the foot of the bed.

“You going out with Stiles?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And what?”

Laura rolls her eyes.  “Jesus, D.  I’ve been having sex since I was seventeen—give me a little credit.”

“What—we’re not—no—”

“Liar.”  She stands, going to join Dara by the dresser.  Dara is still wrapped in a towel from her shower, and she frowns when Laura scoots her aside to pick through her underwear drawer.  “Something that matches the purple would be nice.”

“I only have one pair of purple underwear,” Dara huffs, because her sister is right.  She might as well use her.  “And they’re period panties, not fuck-me panties.”

“Fair enough.  What about black?  Since that’s apparently your color.”

Dara never gets a chance to respond because Laura is too busy picking out everything black in that drawer and tossing it on the bed.  There are several bras that Dara likes, lacy and pretty and complimentary—the bras aren’t the issue.  As soon as they pick one, Laura gathers the panties and lays them out, humming to herself as she eliminates them one by one.  There’s only a handful, but Dara still feels like she’s on trial.

“You don’t have a thong?”

“Thongs are not comfortable,” Dara argues.  “Why would I want a thong?”

“For sex.”

Dara huffs.  “I don’t need a thong.  Stiles doesn’t care what kind of underwear I wear.”

“And you’re still trying to impress her?”

“Of course I’m trying to impress her.”  She sighs, leans against the closed dresser drawers.  “She’s had sex before.  She’s been in relationships before—I’m a virgin.  In both respects.”  She wonders if that’s still true, considering everything she and Stiles have already done.

“D, she’s a nice girl.  We knew that before she became your girlfriend.”

“Yeah, well, she’s nice, and I like her, and I want to have sex with her obviously.  I just want her to want to have sex with me.”

“Wear these,” Laura says, handing Dara the underwear she’s picked.  It’s a black bra that leaves literally nothing to the imagination, and a pair of small underwear that compliments her hips and make her feel deplorably sexy.

When she pulls up in front of Stiles’ house, she’s momentarily horrified to find that the Sheriff isn’t actually gone yet.  His cruiser is in the driveway, and Dara parks on the street, behind the Jeep.  Even worse, the Sheriff answers the door when she rings the bell.

“Hey, Dara,” he says, smiling warmly.  “C’mon in.  How was your Christmas?”

It’s all small talk for a couple of minutes, about the holidays and her family.  The Sheriff is nice, really nice, and she likes him a lot, but she’s still incredibly nervous, since, after all he _is_ her girlfriend’s father.

“I hope you’ll come over for New Year’s,” he says.  “We watch the parade on TV and have a big potluck—you and your family are welcome to come.”

“Thank you so much, Sheriff, I really appreciate that.”

“Of course.”  He clears his throat and looks up towards the stairs.  “She was getting ready last I went up there.  You can go on ahead if you want.”

“Thanks,” she says again, and climbs the stairs carefully, fearful that the Sheriff will see her eagerness for what it really is.

When she pushes open the door to Stiles’ room, Stiles is standing in front of her mirror in nothing but Dara’s lacrosse T-shirt and a pair of red underwear.  She turns around immediately, obviously startled and Dara blushes. 

“I should’ve knocked.”

“I—no, c’mon in.  I didn’t even hear the doorbell ring.”  Probably because of the headphone in her ear, which she promptly takes out, and places it on top of the iPod it’s connected to, which is on her vanity.  “Hey, there.  Did my dad interrogate you?”

“No, he was fine.  He invited me to New Year’s.”

“Oh, good.”  Stiles wraps her arms around Dara’s waist, pressing their forehead together.  “You look good.  Really good.  My dad’s shift got moved a little later in the afternoon, so we have to go out for a couple hours before we’ll have the house to ourselves.”

“That’s fine.”

“Help me pick something to wear?”

She strips out of the lacrosse shirt to reveal a blue bra, and Dara smiles to herself while she rifles through her closet.  “How patriotic of you.”

“Hm, God bless America.”

Dara can’t stop herself from crowding up behind Stiles and kissing just behind her ear, hands on Stiles’ waist.  “Wear something warm.  We can go to the drive-in for the matinee.”

“How romantic.”

“Purely selfish motivations, I assure you.”

Stiles looks delighted by that.  “Awesome.”  She looks Dara up and down.  “Fuck, you’re really hot.  Were you your sister’s Barbie doll?”

“She bought me the skirt and the leggings, but I had the sweater.”

“Remind me to thank her.”

Dara pulls a face.  “Yikes.  Please don’t.”

Stiles laughs, kissing her briefly.  “Go stand over there while I get dressed.  You’re distracting.”

The matinees at the drive-in aren’t as particularly crowded as the evening shows.  (They call it a matinee, but it’s really just late afternoon, at the very beginning of sundown.)  With nightfall, horny teenagers with cars come out to screw around in the backseat, and Dara likes the idea of that, but when it’s still a little light out, it’s just kind of seedy.

They buy popcorn and they do sit in the backseat so that they can be close, their arms curled around each other.  Honestly, Stiles’ dad is gone by now and they’ve wasted some time because it’s winter and the sun goes down early, but—but Dara can’t bring herself to care.  She likes this, likes just going on a date with Stiles, and Stiles apparently likes it too, because she’s kissing Dara’s neck like a leech.

“Whoa, we don’t have to—”

“It’s dark, it’s fine,” Stiles says.  “Besides, there’s only a half hour left of the movie, and I’d like to fulfill my fantasy of fooling around in a dark car with you at one point or another.”

Dara likes her lips.  “Don’t worry.  We’ll do it a bunch of times.”

Stiles is straddling her a couple minutes later, stripping off her coat and unbuttoning her flannel.  Dara is absolutely entranced by it, by the way her breath comes, by the way her mouth moves, and she can’t help but stare until Stiles darts in to kiss her again.

“Do you want me to show you?” she asks, hips twitching in Dara’s lap.

“I—yeah—fuck—”

She’s out of her pants in an instant, sliding over so she can yank them off, even though they’re fabulously tight.  They’re gone, and then she’s in Dara’s lap again, like nothing changed, and she’s not sitting in a dark car wearing nothing but a white tank top and red panties.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” Stiles asks as she spreads her knees a little wider.

“What?”

“Your mouth on me.  I couldn’t believe you’d never done that before.”

“I did some research.”

“That’s frighteningly adorable.”  Stiles kisses her, grinding down into her lap.  “I—I think about your mouth hot between my thighs, and your tongue pressing up inside of me.  I thought about you on your back, my knees on either side of your head, just—”

Dara has to kiss her, pull her closer and kiss her.  When they break apart, Stiles licks her own fingers, patient and careful, and then they’re gone inside of her panties, and Dara moans.

“Shit, you’re so hot, D.”

“Speak for yourself,” Dara says with a smirk, and then she proceeds to move Stiles’ tank aside and lave at her breasts, tender and slow.

“Oh, God.”

When Stiles comes, Dara almost misses it.  She’s been making little movements with her hips the whole time, and Dara expects it to stop when she comes, for her to freeze and all that, but she just keeps moving through it, moaning into Dara’s mouth and moving her fingers.

She collapses against Dara, nuzzling her neck.  “Fuck, I don’t want to stop.”

“Oh, God—can you come again?”

Dara goes hot all over at the thought of making Stiles come over and over and over.  It’s an awesome idea, but Stiles’ mouth distracts her from it, planting wet kisses along her collarbone.

“I wanna do something else,” Stiles says, and then she slips to the floor of the car, her body tucked between the center console of the front seat, and the back.  She slips her hands up under Dara’s skirt and finds the waistband of her leggings, pulling them down, but leaving her underwear.  “I kind of have always had this fantasy of eating someone out while they’re wearing a skirt.  Easy access.  Secretive, hot.”

“Ohmygod.”

She’s careful when she slips off Dara’s boots and pulls the leggings over her feet.  “I dig the lingerie, by the way.  It’s really hot.  Can I take it off of you now?”

“Fuck yes.”

Dara doesn’t want to think about whether or not Stiles has done this to anyone before.  She just wants to focus on how good it feels, on how Stiles is cunning and devious and sneaking her hands up under Dara’s skirt like they’re in school and they’re going to get caught.  (And that’s a whole new fantasy Dara didn’t know she had until right this moment.)

Stiles mouth, when it finally decides to show up, is ridiculously distracting.  Her tongue is masterful, her lips puffy and warm, and she eats Dara out like she’s starving for it.  She’s also slow, though, takes her time so that she can enjoy it.  It’s driving Dara crazy, how hot this is making her.  She knows she’s soaking wet, desperate, and she wants to grab at Stiles’ hair, tug and moan, but instead she just digs her fingers into the leather of the seat and makes little sobbing noises, shuddering with how good it feels when Stiles tongue fucks her.

She’s totally going to come this time.  She can feel it, feel it rising in her like steam out of a kettle, and she’s so fucking close.  If Stiles would like suck on her clit, would just push farther with her tongue, would just give her a little bit more—

There’s a knock on the window.  Dara wants to cry with how unfair it is, with how Stiles immediately pulls back to wipe her face and roll said window down.  Thankfully, it’s not a cop but rather an usher, who is blushing wildly when he says that the film ended ten minutes ago and all cars need to clear out or pay for the evening show.

“We’ll be out of here in just a sec,” Stiles assures him, and he walks away.

The cold air from outside seeps into the car, though, and Dara is no longer as ready to go as she was a couple moments ago.  In fact, all she wants to do right now is pull her leggings back on and go home, crawl into bed and feel sorry for herself.

 “C’mon,” Stiles says, kissing her quickly.  “Let’s get out of here.”

Dara nods.  They don’t really have time to sort out all of the clothes, so Dara just gets into the front seat barefoot but for warm socks, panty-less and cold.  Stiles dresses while Dara warms up the car and she has to wipe with her sweater sleeve at the windshield to get rid of the fog.

Stiles kisses her cheek before she pulls out of their spot.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.  The universe hates me.”

“C’mon, let’s go back to mine.  I’ll eat you out until you’re begging me to stop.”

Dara manages a smile, kisses Stiles quickly.  “How about we run by In-N-Out on the way back to your house?”

Stiles laughs.  “You sure know how to woo a girl.”

 

* * *

 

 

They’re on Stiles’ couch later, burger wrappers thrown away and soda cups resting on the coffee table.  Stiles tastes like salt and ketchup and cheese, and Dara never wants to stop kissing her.  Eventually, though, in the middle of necking while the flat screen is playing some made-for-TV movie in the background, the front door opens, and they jump apart.

The Sheriff walks in, dressed in uniform, arching an eyebrow at them.  “I didn’t know you guys were coming back here.”

“It was too cold to stay out,” Stiles says, scratching the back of her neck.  “We went for burgers and came back.”

He nods slightly, and Dara understands why Stiles has such a good relationship with her father.  They trust each other, but they’re also able to completely see through each other’s lies.  The good thing about the Sheriff, though, is that—as Stiles has explained to her—the Sheriff would rather Stiles be safe and in their own house than out and reckless.

“I came back to pick up my mug—I’m working around the preserve tonight, so I won’t be home until after midnight.  I _trust_ ,” he says pointedly, “that you will make sure Dara gets home safely, and,” he adds, switching his gaze to Dara, “that _you_ will make sure my daughter doesn’t get herself into any trouble.”

“Of course, sir,” Dara says, and he gives her a small smile before he moves into the kitchen to retrieve his travel mug.

Stiles hides her face in Dara’s shoulder.  “This night keeps getting better and better.”

The Sheriff leaves a few minutes later, waving goodbye, and Dara wraps Stiles up in her arms.  “It’s okay.  Let’s finish the movie.”

When the movie is over, Stiles stands, holding out a hand for Dara.  “Wanna come upstairs?”

In all honesty, Dara always wants to be in bed with Stiles, but right now, she’s worn out, her underwear is in her coat pocket, and all she wants to do is sleep.  “Can we nap?” she asks.

The devious look on Stiles’ face is replaced with tenderness.  “Yeah,” she says.  “Yeah, of course.”

Dara falls asleep basically as soon as her head hits the pillow, and she doesn’t wake up until Stiles kisses her cheek softly, telling her it’s time to go home.  She’s still half asleep, so Stiles drives her in the Jeep, parks in front of the house and kisses her.

“I had a lot of fun tonight.”

Dara smiles, kisses her again.  “Me too.  Text me tomorrow so I can pick up the Camaro?”

“Will do.”

“Hey, Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

Dara knows that Stiles probably knows it by now, but she wants to say it anyway.  So she scoots across the bench seat, cups Stiles’ face, and kisses her for what feels like an hour but is probably only a couple of minutes.  “I love you,” she says quickly, and then she’s sliding out of the car and walking into her house, closing the door behind her.

 

* * *

 

 

They see each other a lot over the break, except they stick to sweet kisses and hand holding over cunnilingus and masturbation talk.  They go out, see movies, go to bookstores and coffee shops and every other romantic cliché.  Dara loves it, though, and she likes being with Stiles, so she’s not upset that they’re not having sex, not really.

Dara is the only one of the Hales who comes to New Year’s.  They know they’re all invited, but her parents are going to a party for her mother’s office and Laura is out with friends.  Cora has a babysitter, and Uncle Peter is on a date.  It works out.

They kiss at midnight.  It’s awfully romantic and Dara falls asleep fifteen minutes later, having pulled Stiles up to her room to cuddle.

“We only have three days left until school,” Stiles sighs later that week, flipping through a textbook.  “Did you check your schedule?  Do we still have physics together?”

“Hm?”  Dara looks up from her phone.  “Oh, yeah, I still have it third.  You?”

“Yup.”

They’re quiet for a while longer still, doing their own thing while they sit on Dara’s bed, and then Stiles stands, pacing around her room.

“Something wrong?” Dara asks without looking up.

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Yeah?”

“I made a list.”

“Of?”

“Of things you could try.  Things we could try.”

Dara does look up then.  She arches an eyebrow.  “Sex things?”

“I think part of the reason we weren’t doing very well was because we tried too hard to rush things and just make it all happen.  Maybe if we slowed down—which we’ve been doing—and taking a look at some of the things on the list, we could—you could.  Well, yeah.”

“What kind of things?”

Stiles pulls out her phone.  “Well, for one, I have a detachable showerhead in my bathroom.  It—that’s how I had my first orgasm.  So that—that’s good.  Um, I also have a vibrator, which is, uh, pretty awesome.  And I was thinking maybe if I gave you a massage and went down on you again, that would be another thing worth trying.  Also, if there’s anything you know gets you really hot, we should try that, like porn or whatever.  But it’s also important that you don’t feel stressed out, so I’d still like you to practice on your own, like when I’m not around.  Do you?”

Dara is blinking at her, mouth open just slightly.  “I—not really.”

“Okay, well you should.  And we can start working our way down the list.”

“Is the detachable showerhead a thing all girls know?  Because Erica told me the same thing.”

“It’s magic.”

“And the vibrator?”

“Also magic.  Very magic.”

Dara laughs, can’t help herself at how nervous Stiles looks.

“I just really want this to be good for you.  I like having sex with you, but it—it sucks when you don’t get to come.”

“I know.”

“So.  My house, then?  Tomorrow morning, when my dad leaves for work?”

Dara nods, reaching forward to pull Stiles towards the bed again.  “Yeah.  Tomorrow.”

It’s endearing, how much Stiles cares.  When Dara arrives at her house the next morning, Stiles is making pancakes, and they sit at the table and eat together, talking about their unwillingness to go back to school.

Eventually, though, they’re putting away their dishes and Stiles puts a hand on Dara’s hip.  “So.  Bed?”

Dara nods.  “Bed.”

Stiles lays her out on her stomach, makes her undress except for her panties, which are grey and soft.  She sits on the backs of Dara’s thighs and, for a while, just rubs her back.  She has hot massage oil, and Dara is one hundred percent relaxed when Stiles’ mouth starts moving over her neck and her hands grope her ass.

“Good?” Stiles asks.

“Really good,” Dara mutters, too comfortable to even open her eyes.  She does move her legs slightly further apart, though.  “Think I could use that vibrator now?”

“Oh, fuck yeah.  Hold on.”  She scrambles up, nearly falling in her effort to get to the drawer.  Dara doesn’t watch, but she can hear the drawer opening and something between torn up and when she does open her eyes, she sees Stiles rolling a condom onto a fairly impressive, if thin, black vibrator.

“Condom?”

“Because safe sex,” Stiles says, kissing her quickly.  “Keeps it clean and stuff and more than one person can use it and—yeah.  Safe sex is good sex.”

Dara feels like she’s going to swallow her tongue.  “Sorry, I—no, I changed my mind.”  She sits up, pulling her knees up to her chest.  “That’s not going to work.”

Stiles frowns.  “Okay.”

“I just—sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.  It’s fine, really.”  She doesn’t put it away, though, just leaves it off to the side, out of view.  She moves on her knees towards Dara.  “You okay?”

Dara nods.  “Just—horribly jealous.  Like, deep in my gut jealous.  It’s not a good feeling.”

“Jealous of what?”

“Of anyone who you’ve ever used that thing on.”

Stiles blinks.  “D, you’re my girlfriend.  Anyone before doesn’t matter.”

“I know.  I just—I just know that you’re better at this stuff than I am, and I’m trying to figure it out but I need you.  I do, I need you.  And I don’t want this to be a big deal, but apparently it is.”

Stiles cups her cheek with one hand.  “We don’t have to have sex.  Don’t ever think that we have to have sex just because I’ve done it before.”

“I don’t.  I want to have sex.  I want to have sex with you—all the time.  I just don’t want to make an idiot out of myself.”

“You haven’t.  You couldn’t.”  Stiles eases her back down horizontal, kissing her fiercely.  “Let’s make out until you’re all loose again, yeah?”

Dara nods.  “Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s probably the fact that Dara has no expectations when she wakes up from her nap against Stiles’ shoulder.  It’s probably the fact that she’s loose and warm and comfortable.  It’s probably the fact that they’re both naked, and Stiles is totally moving her hips like she wants to be touched.  Other contributing factors include: the fact that this isn’t on the list, the fact that Dara doesn’t even care if she comes right now and just wants Stiles’ hands on her, and the fact that she’s never slept so well in her life.  She’s going to sleep naked from now on because it’s awesome.

She barely even opens her eyes.  They don’t say a thing, just roll over and kiss each other patiently.  Eventually there are hands, and shortly after that there are mouths.

Dara thinks it’s better like this, lying down with Stiles’ mouth on her, slow and methodical.  It feels like a wave pushing against a rock, carefully breaking it down over time.  It feels good, but Dara doesn’t have to push into it.  She just has to lie there and feel it, let it wash over her.  She’s not desperate, not aching for it, but there’s a slow burn in her that feels really nice, and she’s happy to enjoy that while Stiles does what she wants.

Before Dara realizes it, her body is giving her all of the signs that she’s about to come.  But this time, instead of tensing up, Stiles kisses up her body and reminds her, “Relax.  Just—relax.”  It’s astounding, the amount of effort it takes to just let her head fall back and take what’s being given to her.  She wants to just press down on the gas and go for it, but Stiles is taking her sweet time about it.  She tonguing shapes into Dara, pulling her hips down in little thrusts so that she’s riding Stiles’ tongue, and Dara moans weakly, hands in her own hair.

“That’s it, D,” Stiles mutters.

When it breaks, it breaks like a fucking storm cloud.  It takes a little while longer, a little more effort from Stiles and Dara both, but it actually fucking happens, and Dara cries out, unable to stop herself, nearly screaming.  It feels—it feels fucking indescribable, hot and explosive and weakening.

She’s an absolute puddle, trembling in Stiles’ arms when she comes back to herself.

“Perfect,” Stiles says, kissing her face.  “So perfect.  You’re so perfect, D; you’re fucking amazing.”

Dara just curls in closer, still shaking.

Stiles nuzzles her neck.  “I love you.  I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier; I didn’t know when I was supposed to—I love you.  I love you so much.”

Dara smiles.  “I know.  I love you.”

Stiles laughs, kissing her again.  “So—not bad, huh?”

“You’re my favorite.”

“I know.  Now, I’m gonna shower and make use of the showerhead for myself—but you’re welcome to join me.”

“No way,” Dara protests, holding onto Stiles’ wrist.  “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I know you wanna cuddle, but you’re really hot and I’m really wet, so—”

Dara tugs her close, whispers in her ear.  “I need to return the favor, but I’m physically exhausted.  Any ideas?”

Stiles comes so hard from sitting on Dara’s face that she squirts, and Dara is definitely going to brag about that to everyone because Stiles apologizes profusely, going on and on about how that’s never happened before and she has no idea what the fuck just happened and—and Dara kisses her quiet, laughing into her mouth.

“I love you.”

Stiles beams.  “I love you more.”

“Hm, doubtful.”

“Shut up.”

 

* * *

 

 

There’s an astounding amount of sex after that.  Days and days of showers and vibrators and fingers and mouths—Dara is so wrecked by the time school starts again, she doesn’t know if she’ll actually be able to go the whole day without fucking Stiles into oblivion.  (That’s another thing—Stiles has a harness, and she apparently really likes how Dara looks with the black vibe standing up against her stomach, not to mention how she looks when she’s actually fucking her.)

Stiles sits down next to Dara in third period physics, goes to the far left corner of the desks so that she can sit with her girlfriend, giving up a prized seat in favor of company, and Dara stares at her, her cheeks heating.

“What?” Stiles asks innocently,

“Nothing.”

“I don’t have a sixth on Mondays,” Stiles tells him, opening up her binder.  “And, uh, do you have plans for lunch?”

Dara hums.  “I think I do now.”

“And after school?”

“I’ll ditch cross country.”

Stiles smiles, giving Dara a knowing look.  “Good thing, I guess, considering you won’t be able to walk anyway, much less run.”

The teacher walks in before Dara can come up with a response to that, and Stiles sits back in her seat, looking smug.  Sometimes Dara wonders why she’s in love with this girl—but this, this is not one of those times.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!


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